In Name Only
by InitialLuv
Summary: A fic about fashion figures.


**_Author's Note:_** Just a little fic that makes me smile. Hopefully I can get you to smile, too!

The time period of this story is roughly late 1986, early '87.

**-ck**

_Disclaimer: I do not own these beloved characters, and I am writing for fun and feedback, _**_not_**_ for profit._

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**_IN NAME ONLY_**

**by InitialLuv**

Dinner and coffee had wound down, and as the two guests had to drive over an hour to get home, they took their leave. The men shook hands, and there were kisses and hugs for the bride-to-be. The embrace between Mark McCormick and Barbara Johnson was long and tight, and when they parted her eyes were misty. "I can't thank you enough, Mark."

He waved off her thanks once again, as he'd done earlier in the evening when she'd first asked the favor. "Barb, you know I'm glad to do it. It's what your dad would have wanted. As long as it's not this one performing the service," he jerked a thumb at Milton C. Hardcastle, "I'd be honored to walk you down the aisle."

Claiming fatigue, the judge had thrown the truck keys McCormick's way. Mark had backed out of the driveway, pulled into traffic, and was heading for the highway before Hardcastle perked up enough to speak.

"Seems like a nice enough guy," he said mildly.

Mark grunted.

There was another short period of silence. McCormick guided the truck up the exit onto the highway, and merged seamlessly into the oncoming traffic.

Milt spoke again. "What, you don't think so?"

This time Mark sighed.

Hardcastle sighed as well, but his had a tone of annoyance, tempered with confusion. "You told me you two never really had a serious thing – what are you upset about?"

McCormick took his focus off of his driving to look sharply at the older man. "I didn't say I was upset."

"You don't have to, kiddo," the judge responded with a smile. "I've got you pretty well figured out by now. I know you were using your 'company' manners, but I could tell you were getting uncomfortable. The way you were pushing the food around on your plate, and barely talkin', or talking_ too_ much. . . I'll bet you Barbara could tell, too."

Mark frowned, and his shoulders slumped somewhat. "You really think she could tell?"

Milt shrugged. "How long has she known you? A lot longer than me."

"Yeah, but I live with you. You spend a lot of time with someone, like every _day_, you get to know them _really_ well."

"You lived with her, too, right? You said you stayed with them down in Florida."

McCormick shot another glance at Hardcastle; the judge was staring back with a look of curious expectance.

"Yeah. I slept on their sofa. Ate at their dinner table. Barb was still in school when I first got down there, but on weekends and during the summer she was always around. She spent as much time at the track as me and Flip." He waved a hand in a weak gesture of acceptance. "We were like family."

"Maybe more than family?"

"_No_," Mark responded quickly. "I told you, nothing like that happened. She's younger than me, in more ways than one. When Flip took me in, I was almost eighteen – Barb was twelve. Just a kid, really."

"Like a younger sister."

"Well, yeah," Mark admitted.

Hardcastle nodded sagely. "No wonder you don't like him. You don't think he's good enough for her."

Mark clenched his hands harder on the steering wheel. "I didn't say that, either. He just graduated medical school, for God's sake. How much better could she do? The two of them will make one hell of a power couple once they're married – a lawyer and a doctor."

"Well, then what is it?" Milt pressed. He began to list the positives, ticking them off on upturned fingers. "He's a good catch, she lives closer now since she moved in with him, you get to be a guest of honor at a wedding and wear a fancy tux and hit on the bridesmaids . . . " He lowered his hand. "What? You didn't like dinner?" The judge cocked his head in acknowledgment. "Yeah, it was little pretentious. Even the hor d'oeuvres — gourmet crackers and goat cheese? And what was that grainy stuff with the meal, coos-something?"

"Couscous," McCormick answered. "I liked it."

"So what are you so bothered about? Why were you acting like a heel?"

Mark's lips thinned and he exhaled hard through his nose. "It's stupid."

"Okay. Tell me anyway."

Mark snorted, finally letting a smile through. "Fine. You have to know? It's his name."

"His name," Milt repeated.

"Yeah, his name," McCormick confirmed. "You asked."

"Kenn. What's wrong with Kenn?" Even the man's name was pretentious, with the double 'N', although Hardcastle didn't think that was what concerned McCormick. The judge continued. "Let me guess: you knew some guy in prison with that name. Or maybe someone who beat you bad on the race track?"

"No, nothing like that," Mark said. "It's his whole name. Kenn Dall. Just say it out loud, Judge. Kenn. Dall."

Hardcastle murmured the name a few times, changing it slightly each time. "Kenn Dall. Kendall. Kenny Dall." He shrugged. "I don't get it, kid. What's wrong with Kenn Dall – Oh! I get it now!" Milt's face broke out in a grin. "A Ken Doll! The toy!"

"Yep."

The judge chuckled lightly. "Kind of a dumb thing to get hooked on, McCormick."

"I know that. But it's not just that, Judge. When she marries him, and takes his name. . . She's gonna be Barbara Dall. Or, Barbie Doll."

There were a few seconds of thoughtful silence, and then Milt began to laugh loudly. After a couple of moments, Mark shook his head wryly and joined in.

**_END_**

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**_A/N: Barbie_**® _**Doll** (_and_** Ken**_® _**Doll**) _are fashion dolls manufactured/owned by Mattel, Inc.

**_-ck_**


End file.
